The night before New Years I sat with a dilemma. One last mistake before the year was through. Or stay home.

One thing I had decided, however, was I would strive to become more proactive. I would make decisions. I would choose my choices. I would do things because I wanted to do them.

So it was Ironic that there I sat, makeup half applied, half a plan formed, unsure what I was about to do.

I believe it’s neither bold nor brave anymore to go out and have sex with a stranger. It isn’t taboo or cutting edge and it’s not clever.

So why was I debating it?

Because, he was hot, with a filthy mouth and devilish smile. That was a good way to kick off the pros. But…

…But it’s kind of far to his place, our suggested rendezvous.

So take a book for the tube.

It’s cold outside.

Not once you’re underground.

I’m nervous, what if he doesn’t like me once he meets me?

You might not like him and besides, we’ll all be dead someday.

Exactly. He could be a Murderer!

So I text him:

“Are you a Murderer”

“Not yet” he replies.

“Great you’re either honest or funny”

“Or both?”

So the question I now had to ask myself was: In London is it easier to find a hot, funny guy who’s also good in bed or a Murderer?

I finish getting ready. Classic. Black dress and heels.

Because: I always prefer to make a mistake than not make a decision.

And, if I don’t make the decision how will I understand if it was the right one to make?

So I’m on the tube, Lena Denham really is making the journey go faster, but as I arrive at Manor House where he’s meeting me I realise that’s not what I wanted at all. My stomachs in knots, I think I need to pee, and my heels are uncomfortable.

I get off the tube, a little shaky. I’ve got a few minutes to spare until we said we would meet. He’s coming down into the tube station because apparently there are a lot of confusing exits. I’ve never been to Manor House on purpose before so I don’t question it. I sit down for a moment as if waiting to get back onto the next tube.

When I think my nerves are steady I go to move off, but I realise I can’t go up on my own. He’ll know I waited and I don’t want to look nervous. I want to be cool and calm and in control. I figure this might help in case he does turn out to be a murderer. He looks tall enough to be a murderer. I have to wait for the crowd. I wait the extra 4 minutes and finally make it up the escalators attached to the end of a wave of late night travellers.

He’s not even here. But he was right, there are a lot of exits.

I try to stand central so that I might have a chance to spot him from whichever direction he decides to attack. I feel helpless. Meeting underground seemed smart but I’m in a strange place (north London) without a phone signal.

I decide to head to Exit 1, but just as I do; I hear the fake name I’d decided to use being called out. Luckily I remember to turn around.

Even luckier I fancy him and I still want to do this. The 55-minute tube ride was not in vain.

He greets me with a kiss on the cheek, because, we are meeting up to have sex. We are sophisticated adults who are unfazed and able to handle this kind of interaction.

He takes me to an off license to buy wine. He gets impatient when I can’t decide over white or red. This turns me. Oh dear. Then he says something I’m not listening to, about the wine I think. It turns out we’ve decided on white and are now striding down the pavement towards his apartment.

We’re making awkward conversation and it occurs to me that I don’t care that he’s a web designer and I don’t care about telling him what I do.

Standing out of place in his kitchen I tell him he has a nice apartment, because I think I should, more than I actually think that he does.

I drink the wine far quicker than I would like, entirely betraying my cool. We continue talking even though there is little point. Although it’s not necessary to on this occasion, I find that I like him. Hard working and practical, strong and ambitious. I don’t so much listen as he talks as get a sense of his words. I don’t need to listen here, I need to be aware and I need to be willing, which I am.

He compliments me on my dress. In truth it’s my of the minute first date dress, a black number which draws attention to my hips in a good way but cuts low enough that I don’t feel self-conscious. I of course shun this and tell him lamely its laundry day, I don’t want him thinking I’ve made an effort for him. He laughs and at once he’s kissing me.

He doesn’t stop kissing me for a very long time. If dreamy was a flavour his mouth would be it. Ben and Jerry look no further.

He’s as in control in the bedroom as he was in the off license. I’ve never before had a man unbuckle and take off my shoes for me…

…It turns out it is easier to find a hot, funny guy who’s also good in bed and lives in London than it is to find a Murderer.

I don’t know whether I’ll see him again, but that is fine. I’m elated that I took the chance and met him at all.

Before I left home I had a little problem reasoning with myself over why I was going. Was it one last bad decision for 2014? Did I just need to get laid? Or was it a decision that was just gloriously and thankfully mine to make?

I had walked out of my apartment that night confident and excited and walked back to it the next day a glow with everything that had happened the night before.

Sometimes the best reason for doing something is simply because you want to. We are the lucky ones. Don’t take that for granted, the decisions that you are capable of making for yourself and the things that you are able to take control over are wonderful.

For some women, for some people, it is not a choice as to whom they can love, marry or sleep with.

In places such as Central Africa and Bangladesh girls as young as 11 years old are still forced into Child Marriages. The percentage is as high as 65% of girls in parts of Africa, India and the Middle East being forced to marry before they’re 18 years of age. Young brides not only give up their freedom but also enter into relationships they don’t understand and bare children before their bodies and minds are ready for the pressure. Even some families in the UK still subscribe to this idea, often just born out of a tradition, which glorifies holy union, but turns a blind eye to basic human rights. Sending girls home to countries such as India and Somalia to marry men they’ve never met and have no choice to refuse.

I can’t imagine my liberty being taken from me like that. To have my life measured out to me by someone else and my decisions at the mercy of a person who has no clue about what I want.

Although this piece was originally only about a one night stand I since realised just how much I take for granted all the decisions I make in life. Not only the important ones like where to live, what job I want, what I want to study. All the little decisions, which when it comes down to it make me, me.

Call me a slut but I call myself Lucky.

Below is a link to PlanUK, they explain the on going fight against Child Marriages, why it’s so important to continue this battle and to support organisations like them in doing so.